“What can I say? I’m irresistible,” I say with self-deprecating humor.
She doesn’t taste it.
“Seriously. Why did you go there?”
“Comparing notes.”
“Meaning?”
“I wanted to see if I missed anything about my old life,” I say, the irony lost on her.
“And?”
“I didn’t,” I say, serious this time. “I didn’t expect that I would. It was rather unpleasant but also a relief when I realized I no longer had to do that for a living.”
Her hand slides to my thigh.
I glance at the laptop.
“So, you’ve waited for me...” I say in a softer voice.
Her fingers crawl on top of my hand. Her skin is soft and warm.
I flick my eyes to her.
A beautiful smile graces her lips.
“Yes, I have. I also cooked for you.”
I look at her, incredulous. She nods a couple of times.
“Yes. My first ever meal made from scratch.”
I glance at the kitchen and sniff the air a couple of times.
“It doesn’t smell like food.”
“That’s because the food is in the oven.”
“What is it?” I ask, curious.
“Lasagna.”
“You’re shitting me.”
She shakes her head, grinning.
“Nope.”
“I don’t believe you,” I say, teasing her.
“Why it’s so hard to believe?”
I breathe out a soft chuckle.
“Because it’s hard to imagine you in the kitchen. Your brain taking a break from work. How do I know you haven’t ordered the food?”
“You’ll know when you taste it. It’s homemade, and it’s really good.”